


every hope and every fear (and every single sin)

by tisfan



Series: Truth is Who You Are [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Anal Plug, Anal Sex, Arguing, Dom/sub, Humiliation, Insecure Tony, M/M, No Aftercare, Spanking, Tony Stark Has Issues, crawling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-01
Updated: 2018-11-01
Packaged: 2019-08-09 15:54:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16452878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tisfan/pseuds/tisfan
Summary: Tony Stark has been pretending to be a Dom his whole life. Now that he's finally found the right Dom who can handle him, can Tony get a grip on who he really is, and let him be himself.Bucky's never had a sub like Tony, one who hurts himself far more than any Dom possibly can. Will Bucky be able to show Tony how to be lifted up, rather than held down?Or will they continue to never be able to meet in the middle?





	every hope and every fear (and every single sin)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MissionCritical](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissionCritical/gifts).



> title from a Jann Arden Song "Can I be Your Girl?" Continued from previous stories in this series, you may wish to read those first. Otherwise, just enjoy.
> 
> For the smut-adverse/repulsed: This is a Dom/sub AU. there's a lot of smut here and very little actual plot.

Tony glanced at the clock at twenty minutes to three. He glared at his project screens. There was too much time to shut down now -- he was supposed to go to bed by three. Bucky was many things and a mother-hen was at least four of them. Bed times, meal times. It was like being back in damn elementary school.

If he shut down now, he’d be in bed on time, but, there’d be fifteen minutes between when he shut down that he’d be thinking of all the things he could do in those twenty minutes, and what was a few minutes late? Really?

Tony waved the Delta-nine project to front and center screen, he had just a little more tweaking to do on the propulsion system, test again, surely that wouldn’t take twenty minutes, and then he could go to bed and maybe the whip in his head, the one that drove him faster, better, now, what have you accomplished recently, would actually let him sleep for more than an hour.

He meant to shut down at two minutes til, that would be enough time to at least get from the workshop into the elevator and that was, you know, progress and all, but then he started chasing down a kink in the secondary power systems, and the thought dangled just out of reach. The nag in his head that told him it was almost bed time, that his Dom would be disappointed, blended seamlessly in with the other voices that thought Tony was never good enough, that he was never fast enough, not smart enough, he was never enough-- that was all background static and while the disapproval and disappointment fell on him like raindrops, they were easily brushed aside.

By the time he finished chasing down the bugs in the compiled code, and fixed the design flaw in the pilot-controlled delivery conduit, he was sweating, but satisfied, until he looked at the clock.

5:19 glared at him accusingly.

Tony swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat, the way his stomach clenched up and went sour, the way his blood turned into slush in his veins.

Bucky was going to be pissed.

And it didn’t matter that Bucky had never, ever been pissed with him. It was too well trained in him that disappointment was the very best he could ever expect.

It was tempting to just keep working, to go ahead and live the lie; _I lost track of time, honeybritches, I’m sorry, I just thought one more thing around one and I fell down the rabbit hole._ Or even just sleep in the workshop. He’d put a comfortable couch in there years ago just for that purpose, power naps between engineering binges.

He knew, Tony knew, why he worked so hard, he couldn’t stop until he dropped over from exhaustion, because nothing was ever enough, and maybe if he ran himself ragged, the little Howard in his head that had never been _quiet_ , but had just gotten louder as time went on, even decades after the man had died, would give him just a moment’s worth of pity. A word or two of praise, that was all Tony ever wanted.

He stifled a sob against his forearm. God, he was tired already, he was exhausted, and if he went into his bedroom now, he wasn’t going to be allowed to sleep, he was going to have to justify himself to an angry and disappointed Dom.

A disappointed and disapproving Bucky, and somehow that was even worse, having all his faults and flaws spelled out in fifty foot letters. Have to sit there and take it while someone scolded him, because there was nothing else to be done. Tony was an epic screwup of a human, and sometimes people just felt the need to remind him, like he didn’t live with it all the damn time.

There was no other way, he knew. If he didn’t take his lashes -- verbal or physical -- Bucky would leave, he would leave and Tony would be alone again, and the fact that Tony was staring blankly at nothing trying to decide which was worse, how much padding he had in his relationship before Tony-being-Tony would drive him off… well, that said entirely too much, didn’t it?

Reluctantly, Tony climbed off the stool, shut down his systems.

For tonight -- well, today, really, but who was counting? -- he’d take his licks, see if he could earn his way back into his Dom’s good graces.

 _At least if Bucky spanks me, I can feel absolved,_ Tony decided, brain fuzzy with lack of sleep. The temptation to cover his ass like a toddler who knew they deserved a spanking was pretty damn strong.

The lights were out in the bedroom, and the steady sound of Bucky’s breathing was a sweet lullaby. Maybe Tony could just slide into bed and--

“Hey, baby,” Bucky said, all the edges of the words polished and smooth as Bucky went from being asleep to awake in a single step. Tony didn’t know how he did it; Tony usually had to chase sleep down to get any, but once he was there, his body wanted to stay there, hidden away and safe. Even in nightmares, he was safer asleep than he’d ever been awake. Bucky, on the other hand, went from dead sleep to wide awake in a single blink.

“Hi,” Tony managed, trying keep the guilt and trepidation out of his voice. He didn’t want to say sorry, not again, not now. Could they just not? For one night, was that too much to ask, just--

“Come on to bed,” Bucky told him, throwing back the blankets to create a place for Tony in the bed.

“Yeah,” Tony agreed, readily, hastily, hoping it wasn’t a trap. When had Bucky ever set a trap for him? Never. Could past events predict future trends? It was supposed to, in a world of numbers and facts, but people were never predictable, and Tony never understood them, except that they always hurt, they always lashed out, and Tony was such a convenient target, big as life and twice as loud. “Lemme just--” he jerked his head toward the bathroom.

“‘Kay.” Bucky was already soft in half-sleep.

Tony went to the bathroom and dithered over brushing his teeth and washing his face and hands, peering at himself in the mirror and trying on his expressions like they were masks. Rueful, embarrassed, ashamed, defiant. He wasn’t sure what Bucky wanted to see, and--

“I can hear you thinkin’ all the way in the other room,” Bucky said, tapping his fingers on the door lightly. “Can I come in?”

Bucky always asked.

Tony pinched at his cheeks, tried his smile on again.

“Yeah,” Tony said, _because_ Bucky always asked.

Bucky slipped inside, curled up against Tony’s back and tucked his face into the safe hollow of Tony’s throat. “You smell good,” he said, lips buzzing against Tony’s skin.

Tony scrunched the side of his mouth up. “Do not,” he protested. “I smell like workshop clutter and cold coffee and sweat and machine oil.”

“Like you,” Bucky said, rubbing the tip of his nose against Tony’s hair. “Come on, bedtime, sleepy.”

Tony stifled a wide yawn, until his jaw threatened to crack. “Not tired.”

“Liar…” Bucky said, but it was fond and not accusing. “Come on, t’bed.”

Tony braced himself for the scornful remark, the reminders, the passive-aggressive bullshit that he sometimes got from other people. But nothing happened. Bucky tugged him across the room and then snuggled up when they were both on the mattress and Tony lay awake, Bucky’s arm draped over his hip.

“You’re still thinkin’,” Bucky mumbled finally.

“I think, Buckaroo, that’s kinda my whole schtick, aside from, you know award-winning smile, second most eligible bachelor sort of thing,” he responded.

“I like your smile,” Bucky said. “An’ there’s somethin’ satisfyin’ about bagging one of th’ most eligible bachelors. But when you’re thinkin’ loud enough for me to tell you wanna say somethin’ and you ain’t sayin’ it… that’s when I get worried. So why don’t you tell me what you’re thinkin’ about, an’ let’s deal with it?”

“Can we just get to the part where you’re mad at me and get it over with,” Tony burst out, even though Bucky had only asked once, he hadn’t even used to Dom voice on Tony, and-- was he too used to taking Bucky’s orders?

“You think I’m mad, or do you think I ought t’ be mad?”

“Yes?”

“I’m not,” Bucky said.

“But… I’m supposed to be in bed by three.”

“Did you agree to that?” Bucky propped himself up on one elbow, running his fingers through Tony’s hair, which felt really nice, and he hesitated to press back into it, but oh, god, it felt good.

“I, um… sometimes?” Tony stammered.

“Are you, or are you not, an adult?”

“Chronologically, or--”

“Tony.”

“Yes, I am,” Tony said, huffing, “and I know-- but you said…”

“I strongly suggested you might benefit from regular sleep,” Bucky said. “But you’re… look, you don’t gotta go to bed when I say, or anything else that I say, that you ain’t onboard with. If you want t’ stay up until dawn, an’ go to sleep slouched over your work, that’s up t’ you.”

It wasn’t even the first time Bucky had told him these things, and Tony sighed. It just… didn’t stick. Some things were hard to unlearn. He kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, and there didn’t seem to be one.

“Sometimes I think you should,” Tony said.

“Yell at you?”

“Yeah.”

“Not gonna happen, babydoll,” Bucky said. “‘Cause you don’t really want that, ain’t what you want, ain’t what I want, an’ it ain’t what you need. We’ll find it, jus’ trust me.”

“I trust you.”

“Liar,” Bucky said, burying his nose in Tony’s hair again. “But you’re gettin’ closer, I think. I got some ideas, stuff t’ try next time, help you out.”

“You don’t think a good paddling will do that,” Tony asked, and there was that quaver again, what he wanted and what he needed and what he absolutely didn’t want to ask for.

“I think you want a paddling,” Bucky said. “But not as punishment. You’re not gettin’ punished Tony, not for makin’ your own decisions. I ain’t… that’s not who I am.”

“Whole package deal, I remember,” Tony said. That part, he was slowly absorbing.

“That’s right,” Bucky said.

I love you, Tony thought, but he didn’t say it, because it was the last thing he had. If and when everything went to shit, he could say it then. It would still be true, and Tony would still be a screw up, but… maybe that much, Bucky would treasure.

“Get some sleep, baby,” Bucky told him, like he’d heard Tony’s thoughts. “We can play tomorrow, if you want.”

Tony snuggled into Bucky’s heat, drawing it around him like a blanket. He kept pushing the line and pushing, and Bucky never pushed back. Maybe there wasn’t a line. Maybe he’d never find it.

Tony wasn’t sure if that made things better. Or worse.

***

“I hate being Tony Stark some days,” Tony declared, pushing into his penthouse. He had already ditched the jacket -- probably still in the car -- and the tie was hanging loose around his neck. Shirt sleeves cuffed up to the elbows, revealing Tony’s forearms, and there was a smudge of grease on his cheek that pulled at all of Bucky’s instincts.

He wanted to lick his thumb and wipe it off. He wanted to pull Tony closer by that tie and hold him. He wanted to order Tony to his knees, peel off the rest of those fancy, tailored clothes and do beautiful and brutal things to him.

“Rough day?”

“Is that even a question anymore?” Tony threw the tie onto the counter and rummaged around in the fridge before pulling out one of those flavored seltzer waters that he liked -- the sort of bullshit that tasted like fizzy water that had once been in the same room as a single blueberry. “Just once, I’d like to walk in that door and have someone say ‘oh, good day, Tony’ because I don’t look like hell got turned into an egg and fried.”

Bucky blinked. “Was that supposed to make sense?”

“It’s not a… perfect metaphor,” Tony said in that voice that meant he was quoting something and Bucky wasn’t getting it. But Bucky’d learned if he asked, he’d get the answer to the reference question, and nothing else.

“You want to bitch about it, baby?”

“Will it do any good?”

“Probably not,” Bucky admitted. “‘Cept maybe tell me who to stab for upsettin’ you.”

“No, no stabbing, that’s messy and usually involves press conferences that I don’t want to go to,” Tony said, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “It’s all right, just, on top of everything else, Bruce asked me if I intended to collar you, or just keep you hanging on my word. I mean, I know he’s asking because he cares, and because he’s… you know--”

“Going by your reputation.”

“I’ve always known I wasn’t the settle down sort of guy,” Tony said.

It wasn’t like everyone important didn’t know the truth of the matter; Steve and Pepper and Rhodey all knew. A couple doctors. But hiding and pretending, that was eating away at Tony. Even when Tony was dealing and pretending, it was all only skin deep.

“It… doesn’t have to be that way, if you’ve changed--”

“Don’t start with me,” Tony said.

There were hills to die on, Bucky thought, and while this might be one of them, not today.

“I’m not,” Bucky said. “Just want you to remember, the option’s open to put everything on the table. When you’re ready. Or if you’re not ever, I’ll still take what we got.”

“You really mean that?”

And oh, God, it must have been bad, whatever Bruce had said, because Tony admitting that he needed reassurance (all Tony ever needed was reassurance, but he never admitted it) was not normal.

“I mean that,” Bucky said. “You can DTR all you want, and I will take what you give me and no more.”

“DTR, huh,” Tony said, a half smile on his face. “You’ve been hanging out with Parker too much.”

“Come on,” Bucky said, dropping the serious discussion for now, because he knew his boyfriend, he knew his sub. Tony would just fight back and get contentious if he thought Bucky was pushing. “I got something for you that’ll fix all this, get your head on straight.”

“Did you buy sex toys and slutty lingerie? Because I will be very impressed if you did.”

Bucky was out of his chair and pressed up against Tony’s back in a heartbeat. “Would you wear sluttly lingerie if I asked you to? Or would you rather that I did?”

“Oh god,” Tony’s voice dropped, broke, and the can of fizzy water hit the floor.

“Is that oh god, yes you, or oh god, yes me?”

“Both, both. Definitely both. Maybe even at the same time, but yeah, okay.” Tony cupped his hands on either side of Bucky’s face and drew him in for a kiss that went from tender and sweet to legs around Bucky’s waist, being dry humped against the damn refrigerator with the fridge magnets falling onto to floor and one of them sticking to Bucky’s arm, and the only thing Bucky cared about was Tony’s tongue in his mouth, and the heat of being held in the cradle of Tony’s thighs.

“You think you’d be aware of it?” Bucky growled into Tony’s ear, still rocking him against the fridge, the hot feel of him against Bucky’s body. “Wearin’ it under your suits, an’ knowing that as soon as you walk in th’ door I’m gonna strip you down until it’s just you an’ that black lace? Think you’d be able to get anything else done, aside from wantin’ me?”

Tony arched back against the fridge, moaning. Something fell off a shelf inside the fridge, glass striking the door with a clack.

“Bedroom, honey,” Bucky told him, reluctantly letting Tony down, and holding him steady until he got his feet under him. “I got a little surprise for ya.”

Tony wobbled, fell against Bucky’s chest. “Yeah? Can it wait while you fuck me against the counter?”

Bucky laughed, and he was sorely tempted. “Go on,” he said, aiming a swat at Tony’s perfect backside. “You can’t tempt me, minx.”

Tony took that as a challenge, because of course he did. He started peeling out of his clothes, leaving them in little piles as he headed toward the bedroom, walking with a lot of sway in his hips, not looking back. He knew Bucky was watching. Bucky was _always_ watching.

Totally naked by the time he reached the bedroom, Tony cast one longing, heated look over his shoulder, a wink and a little wave. The bedroom door closed behind him, and Bucky slumped against the fridge, breathing hard. God, Tony was something else.

Perfect and sassy, a brat and a beautiful disaster.

When Bucky gathered his wits, he followed Tony into the bedroom.

There was always something just a little naughty about being fully dressed while Tony was naked. Bucky never made the mistake of thinking, as a Dom, that he was anywhere close to being in charge of Tony. In the end, in a healthy, loving relationship, it was the sub who chose what was allowed. But when Tony was nude, vulnerable, and kneeling, Bucky felt powerful.

He didn’t even have to say it, the look in his eyes seemed to be enough, and for the first time, Tony went down without Bucky having to say a word. Neat and pretty, a single fluid movement, back a beautiful curve, head bowed and neck showing, wrists crossed at the small of his back.

“Oh, look at you,” Bucky breathed.

Tony didn’t even twitch, he didn’t even look up.

“Yeah, you just stay right there, honey,” Bucky told him. “Let me look at you.”

It wasn’t the most comfortable position, Bucky knew. He’d been there. Bare knees on bare floor. And Tony was restless, even at the best of times. It took effort for him to stay still, constant vigilance that sometimes could drop him into subspace, now that he knew he could trust Bucky. It had to be reinforced regularly. Tony didn’t trust easily.

Bucky walked around Tony a few times, keeping an eye on him. “All right,” he said, finally, and heard Tony’s suck of breath. “I’m going to offer you some choices and you’re going to earn some rewards. A few little jobs I have for you. Ways for you to show me how pleased you are to belong to me. Ways for you to prove you deserve a reward, okay?”

“Yes, sir,” Tony said.

“Stand up,” Bucky told him, and watched as Tony pulled himself upright, gorgeous and supple. His hands stayed at the small of his back and he spread his legs just a little when he got there, a parade rest, a delight for Bucky’s eyes. “Good, that’s one.”

Tony’s lids flickered, a hint of brown eyes slanting to read the weather on Bucky’s face. “One what, sir?”

“One point. When you get to ten, you can have your reward, or you can try for another one. And that’s two.” Tony had trouble with sir, pretty frequently. The term of respect that had been forced, not earned, from so many. And he liked to test the boundaries, to see where Bucky would lose his cool, strike out in anger, in a determined bid to keep his authority.

Bucky knew better than to fall into that trap, but sometimes he wondered why Tony had to fight everything, so much. Had to make things difficult for both of them. Keep Bucky constantly on guard.

He’d set everything up earlier; Bucky went to the tray and plucked up a velvet bag and poured out a pair of delicate nipple clamps. Other jewelry, designed to draw the eye, were laid out in neat rows.

“Come here, darling,” Bucky told Tony. “Hands behind your neck, please.”

“Yes, sir,” Tony said. Bucky licked each nipple to a stiff peak, ignoring it when Tony shuddered, ignoring each hastily drawn breath, and the way Tony’s back arched into the sensation.

He affixed the clamps, tightening each until they were secure. “Very pretty. So, here’s your first choice. You can leave these just as they are, and I’m going to have you march around the room so I can watch you. You’ll get two points for each turn around the room, as long as your form is perfect. Or… we can add a chain, which you can let dangle, or you can put it in your mouth.”

Tony blinked. “We’re doing a dog and pony show?” He licked his lips, then added, “sir” with a touch of insolence.

“More than you’re up for, honey?”

Tony’s eyes narrowed. “No. What else?”

Bucky indicated the rest of the jewelry, a glans ring, a ball and scrotum locking set, and the chain to link the whole set together. He had some decorative plugs as well. “Pick any you want. What I want to do tonight is look at you. I want to see how pretty you can be.” He waited while Tony weighed his options, then added, “And you can crawl.”

Tony sucked a breath. He tipped between hating things like crawling and subservience, the things that reminded Tony that he was lower, lesser, subjugated and held in thrall to someone else’s whim and on the other end, Tony loved showing off. How much he could do, how much pain he could take.

“Because I want to look,” Bucky said again. “I want to see how pretty you are, to know how much you want me, how much you want to be perfect for me.”

Tony reached out a hand and touched one of the decorative plugs, a round, faceted crystal at one end to throw back the light. There were matching nipple clamp weights to go along with it. “Around the room, once. With these. Crawling. How many points will that earn me?”

Trust Tony to want to bargain.

“Fifteen,” Bucky decided. “And five more, if you ask for a spank on your way by.”

Tony considered that. “Deal.”

Bucky had to hold himself very still for a moment, fighting the urge to reward his sub just for agreeing.

“Turn around, bend down until your hands are on the floor. I need to get this in you,” Bucky told him.

Tony made more of a production of it than usual, wiggling his ass in Bucky’s direction once he got into position. Tony’s ass was perfect, and Bucky didn’t bother to resist the urge to touch, stroking over the rounded curves, teasing down Tony’s crack. “Don’t fall, baby,” Bucky told him.

Tony scoffed, exasperated, but he stopped wiggling.

He might have taken longer lubing Tony up and getting the plug seated than was strictly necessary, enjoying Tony’s eager moaning and pained whining when he didn’t get what he wanted. Bucky tucked the plug in place finally and gave Tony a brief smack on the ass, not even enough to sting, but just to jiggle the plug and get a startled suck of air from Tony.

“Evil,” Tony commented as Bucky helped him upright.

“You know it,” Bucky responded. “How’s that feel, pet?”

Tony gave a nonchalant shrug. Bucky decided not to push. “All right, let’s see those clips, hmmm?”

Bucky linked the chain, letting enough of it drag between the two clamps so that Tony could get a mouthful, if he needed, then affixed the weights, tugging at Tony’s nipples, drawing them down.

“Down, let’s see how that looks, baby.”

Tony made a soft, almost whimpering sound as he went down, the weights stretching on the chain between his nipples, gravity doing a lot of the work. “Sir?”

“Yeah, you look so lovely,” Bucky said. “Go on, ‘round the bedroom.”

The bed itself was in the center of the room on a little platform, the center focus. Most of the rest of what Bucky considered bedroom furniture, tables and dressers, were in the vanity room, so the path around the bed itself was relatively clear and while Tony had always kept posts at each corner, the view wasn’t going to be obstructed in any direction, provided Bucky turned to keep watch.

It also meant the path wasn’t exactly short.

Tony’s genius brain had probably already calculated the circumference, and knowing Tony, he’d also figured how tight he had to cut the corners before Bucky would scold him. Given that the work was already done, Bucky sat back to watch the show.

Tony was lovely, back held neat and straight, head up, hands spread so his fingers helped him keep his balance, and he moved with a certain decadence. Like crawling, on display for Bucky’s pleasure, was all he ever wanted to do. From time to time, he’d glance to the side, to make sure Bucky was still watching.

Bucky shifted from one side of the bed to the other, drinking in the sight.

At the end of his first circle, Tony crawled in, deliberate, one hand and knee at a time, meeting Bucky’s gaze and then holding it. His entire body moved with intent, with need and longing and desire. When he reached the side of the bed, he turned, presented his ass to Bucky.

“Sir, may I get my spank, please,” Tony asked, his voice pleading, almost mewling. Tempting. He wiggled his hips a little, the light sparkling off the plug like a zag of electricity.

Bucky couldn’t help the smug smirk that painted itself over his mouth, even if Tony probably couldn’t see it.

“Oh, yes, you can,” Bucky told him. “How’s that plug feel? Still good?”

He didn’t wait for Tony’s answer, just tapped the end of it a few times, listening to Tony moan wantonly. “Oh, god, yes, sir.”

Bucky was relentless, tapping, turning the plug slowly inside. He tugged it out lightly and fucked Tony with it a few times until Tony went down to his elbows, pushing his ass up higher.

Once Tony’s forehead touched the floor, Bucky drew back and swung. A few barehanded slaps, kept with a cupped hand to emphasize the sound, and Bucky sent him on his way. “Another lap, pet?”

Tony made a grumbling noise in his chest, but did as Bucky said. He was a little slower, his breath a little more labored. Bucky’d known subs who spent most of their time on their knees, who heeled for their Dom like a beloved pet. But that wasn’t Tony, and for him, this was work.

It was also work that Bucky was sure Tony could do. Not a quitter, Bucky’s sub. Something he could hold on to, as an accomplishment. On a day when Tony was already feeling down on himself, Bucky thought he might need the win.

“Doing so good, sweetheart,” Bucky said.

Tony perked up a little at that, the praise giving him more energy. It was a constant battle, enough praise to keep Tony happy and pleased without pushing him over the edge into the mood where he felt the need to argue with Bucky about it.

And he was good, he looked good, he was perfect.

Too bad Tony would never believe it.

***

Sir was working him over. Tony crawled, looked at the floor between his hands; his palms were red and his fingers were swelling and cramping, already aching from a hard day of not clenching his fists. Pretending everything was all right, that nothing could ruffle him. He lifted his head to gauge the distance between himself and the wall. It wouldn’t do to get lost in his own head and forget that he needed to turn.

Half of the first lap, he managed to burn out most of his aggression about the bullshit with Carl Drake (the fuck those booster rockets weren’t stolen from Tony’s second doctorate project. He knew his own work.) and have time to mentally complain about some other things. Like being forced to crawl around on the floor for Sir’s amusement and delight.

Tony hated these sorts of humiliation exercises, the same way he hated almost everything about being a sub. He hated the way it felt, like a weight on his back and neck, forcing him down. He hated the way he needed it, and craved it, anyway. He hated the way there was a small (okay, maybe not so small) part of him that lifted and thrilled to Bucky’s praise, that sought his approval. That needed to be validated, that needed to have approval, that needed praise. That needed to be reminded that Tony fucking Stark was worth something.

He hated how aware of it he was. Slave to biological desires, in more ways than one. He’d complained a few times about it to Pepper, who’d given him side eye and told him to be grateful he didn’t menstruate as well. In retrospect, he had bad timing.

A lot.

With alarming frequency.

He wasn’t sure if those few slaps that Sir gave him after he finished his first lap were reward for doing the lap, punishment for thinking of anything and everything except his tasks for Sir. They did wake him up a little, got him a little more interested in sex.

It wasn’t that he wasn’t interested, he told himself as he crawled back out to the wall, he was always interested. He just wasn’t… really thinking about it right now.

Which, truth told, he probably wasn’t supposed to be doing. This was his time to focus on Sir, to give Sir what Sir needed, so that Sir could give Tony what Tony needed.

That he both craved and detested it, love-hate right there, all the cliches and tropes, wasn’t Sir’s fault.

Sir had been very, very good to Tony. Patient and loving in a way Tony _never_ thought he deserved. So strong, so steady, he was like a rock that Tony could cling to.

So, naturally, Tony had to flip the rock upside down and start looking for worms, because Tony Stark wasn’t enough, or he was too much, but he never quite hit the Goldilocks marker. He was never Just Right, he never Fit.

Except Sir kept trying to tell him. (He made the first turn, lifted his head a little, tried to curve his back perfectly. Sir was still watching him, eyes heated, that little pretty smile on Sir’s face.)

Kept saying how good Tony was, how sweet, how compliant, how much Sir loved him.

Sometimes, he thrilled to it. And sometimes the praise just made him want to cringe in on himself, because he knew he was a fraud.

Well, maybe this time, just this time, he could earn it. Sir wanted him to show off, wanted to put him through his paces like a show pony.

Tony lifted his chin, let his hips sway.

Biology aside, a lot of the sub behaviors didn’t seem to come naturally to him the way they did to other subs. He didn’t mince when he walked, he didn’t keep his eyes averted. He was a threat and a challenge to a Dom’s sense of worth. He’d pulled off his lie for so long because being a sub didn’t come easy. He had to work for it.

So he would. He tipped his chin to see if Sir was still watching, still looking like Tony was some perfect snack, some delicious tidbit.

Of course Sir was watching. Sir always watched. He was like a shadow, still and calm and always, always there.

Tony wasn’t going to disappoint Sir. Not today.

Knowing Sir’s eyes were on him, Tony did his level best to project his desire, how proud he was to belong to Sir, how much he wanted Sir’s approval. Those things made his muscles loosen up, got his stomach and thighs clenching, added a certain something to his movements. He put one hand down and slyly looked over his shoulder as he shifted forward. Crawling with _intent_ , rather than just locomotion, moving with purpose, presenting himself instead of just advancing.

“Oh, that’s _lovely_ , baby,” Sir said, immediately.

Tony warmed; Sir had noticed. He’d been aware of Tony, every little movement and shift, the way Tony had not been aware of Sir. There should have been a burst of shame there, but maybe that was the whole point of the activity, to give Tony a way to get the fuck out of his own head and just be. Be what Sir wanted, be who Sir wanted.

And if he fought it, if he denied it, maybe it was because it was what Tony wanted to be, and didn’t think he could get there. Sometimes, it was better to not try, than to fail and fall. He was always so far above the ground.

“You’re so magnificent.”

Despite the growing pain in his fingers, Tony slowed his crawl even more, tempting, showing off. Each slide of his body crafted to project his desire, to show how amazing he could be.

By the time he made it around to the front again, he was prowling more than anything, stalking Sir with his neediness, with his passion.

Tony was gone, long gone, and only Sir’s pet remained, eager to please, but coy, responsive but difficult. Just as apt to bite as kiss.

“I think I might be ready for my reward, Sir,” Tony said, licking his lower lip and giving Sir a very direct, needy stare.

“Yeah?” Sir lounged on the bed, propped up on one elbow like a greek god that expected to be fed peeled grapes. “Why don’t you come claim it, then?”

Every ache in Tony’s body was worth it, as he moved over Sir’s body, the rough brush of his clothes against Tony’s bare skin was delectable. The scrape of Sir’s stubble against Tony’s cheek as he leaned in to kiss Sir delicious.

Tony took possession of Sir’s mouth with determination, kissing him to wipe that smug smirk off his mouth, kissed him because he was allowed, kissed him because Tony was _owed_. But mostly, he kissed because he wanted to.

He licked at Sir’s lip, teasing the tender crease, sliding the tip of his tongue inside to taste the inside of his upper lip. Drew back to breath moist, warm air in between them. He nipped at Sir’s mouth, little tiny pecks, drawing back every time Sir pressed forward, teasing. A dance of lip and tongue, a song of want and need, painting his desire with his tongue.

Sir let him direct them, opening only as far as Tony wanted, chasing the sensation, but not holding Tony back at all, not forcing the kiss on him, not taking it over and leading at in accordance to Sir’s whim. Emboldened, Tony inhaled, filled his lungs with the scent of Sir, strong and masculine, like coffee and leather and sweat, sweet like caramel.

He touched and explored, hands roaming over the ropy muscle and impatiently pushed at clothes. Such a bother.

“You tell me, sweetheart,” Sir said, “What you want as your reward. You’ve been so good for me tonight, so perfect. I’m so proud of you. No one else has what I have, no one else ever could.”

“No one else could handle it,” Tony said, and that was true. The sheer effort involved in taming Tony to heel, even for a few minutes, wasn’t worth it. It was a poor investment ratio.

“No one else deserves it,” Sir said. “No one else has what it takes to be right for you, pet. You know that. You’re a prize, you’re a treasure, you’re so, so special. Tell me, tell me what you want.”

“I want…”

“Tell me everything,” Sir encouraged.

“I want… want to strip you out of these clothes. I want to… I want you to let me please you, want to taste you, lick you all over, blow you until you’re weak with it, and then I want to ride you.” Some things, Tony thought, couldn’t be tamed. He and Sir were two of a kind. Unconventional, working with their natures as best they could. Hard edges and soft centers. Shielding themselves against the world. But inside, away from prying eyes, maybe they could be something more.

Maybe they could be, Tony thought and he sucked in a breath at that thought.

Maybe… with Sir holding him, Tony could finally, finally be free. Would it be so bad, to give his loyalty to Sir? He’d already given everything else, and he didn’t feel confined, he didn’t feel enslaved. He felt… treasured. Loved. Adored, even.

 _After_ , Tony decided. He’d love Sir as best he could, make sure Sir was happy and content and satisfied, and then he’d tell Sir he’d decided. They could come clean, they could have a bond, Tony would let Sir put his collar on Tony. There was paperwork and legal things they’d have to work out before anything could happen, but Tony was ready, he thought.

_He could have this._

He could have this for the rest of his life.

He lost himself in the push and pull of Sir’s body; the way Sir could almost effortlessly undress, sliding and maneuvering around so that as much of that sleek, bare skin could touch Tony’s. Sir never seemed to get his shoe caught up in the leg of those sinfully tight jeans. Sir could tug his shirt over his head, one-handed, and the resultant fall of his hair looked sexy, not merely messy.

Soon enough, he had that perfect body bare, exposed, and Tony was too busy worshiping every inch of it to worry about how his own, fit, but nearly fifty, body compared. He had this, he could have this, and there was nothing that Tony wanted more.

“Yours, sir,” he whined between kisses, licking Sir’s lips, down his throat. He fastened his mouth on one dark brown nipple and tortured it with soft bites, with gentle nips, suckled at it, until Sir was moaning, arching his chest into it. Tony matched the motions with his hand, on the other side. Sir’s nipples were so sensitive. Tony wondered, absently, if he could get Sir off just like this, sit slicked up in Sir’s lap and wriggle around and tease those nipples to hard peaks, until Sir was moaning as wanton as a slut. “I’m _yours_.”

Sir’s mouth and body were hot, molten and gleaming with sweat. Tony shivered at the sensations and the muscles in his legs trembled. Sir’s hands were tucked behind his neck, keeping himself spread and still for Tony’s ministrations. Tony wanted to make it good, make it the best, everything was for Sir, but Sir was kind and sweet, and Tony would feel good too. There was power in making Sir feel good, making him helpless and weak and in thrall to Tony’s touch.

Tony kissed Sir, teased his mouth open with kitten licks and sweet nips. He sucked Sir’s lower lip into his mouth, grazed it with his teeth, until Sir was gasping, leaning up into the kiss, but still not touching, not pulling Tony down. Inviting, not invading.

Sir was sweet, he was so sweet for Tony, the right amount of stern and demanding, and yet so eager for Tony’s satisfaction.

Tony dug his fingers into the dark hair at the back of Sir’s head and held on, fastening their mouths together as he wriggled on top of Sir’s body. The sweat and heat between them made for a slick ride, and Sir moaned, rutting up against Tony’s thighs. That exotic sensation of Sir’s cock, rubbing against Tony’s skin sent prickles of heat through Tony. He was weightless, almost floating as he writhed. Sir finally gave in, one hand stroked down Tony’s back with fondness, eager until he reached Tony’s hip, and then his fingers dug in, holding him tight.

Tony was trembling all over as Sir tapped the base end of the plug. “You ready for this to come out, sweetheart?”

“God, yes,” Tony whimpered.

Sir leaned up, his mouth capturing Tony’s again in a headlong, hectic kiss. Each thrust of his tongue was bliss, each scrape of his chin, the way his lips moved against Tony’s a fiery ache, until Tony was gasping into Sir’s mouth, moaning, and -- a flare of pleasure, like a strobe light, as Sir plucked the plug from its resting place and tossed it aside.

The surge of agonizing hunger Tony felt seared him. There was nothing of play or want or desire in this, it was need, as great as the pressure from his lungs that needed air. Raw and wild and Tony barely kept it in check long enough to straddle Sir’s thighs. No thought, no consideration for anything but needing to be filled, needing to be _fucked_ , right now.

He got himself situated, hovering above Sir’s cock, balanced on his hands and trembling knees, and then pushed himself down, impaling himself on that thick hardness.

They moved together, then, a rhythm as old and as perfect as time itself, a give and take, a sharing. A slick, hard slide and a soft, eager welcoming. Tony’s body, if it had ever belonged to him at all, was now Sir’s, to do with as he pleased, to have and to hold.

Sir thrust up into him, not gentle, but that was all right. Tony didn’t want gentle, he wanted that jackhammer rhythm that had him struggling to keep his seat, to keep his knees hard against Sir’s thighs, to keep the pace. To bounce up and down on Sir’s cock, feel it deep inside him, deeper, until there was no way to tell where Tony stopped and Sir began.

There was Sir’s mouth on him, and Sir’s cock inside him, and Sir’s hands on his hips, keeping him steady. “I’ve got you, I’ve got you,” Sir said, and indeed, he fucking did. It was good, it was better than good, and Tony lost himself to it, the pulse and throb and ache and burn.

“You’re so good, baby,” Sir told him, “perfect, I--” Sir arched up, pushing Tony into the air, forcing him to scramble for balance as they rocked together, reached new heights of pleasure and -- “Oh, god, Tony, Tony!”

Sir was filling him up, and Tony cried out, clenching down with everything in him, making it sweet, and tight, and perfect.

Sir’s hand was on Tony’s cock, stroking him, bringing him up to the edge, and then fucking the orgasm right out of him. White light filled up his vision, sparks of electric fire danced from nerve to nerve. Everything in him went hot, then cold, then hot again, until Tony was limp and exhausted, wrung out like a dishcloth, sprawled, messy and satisfied, over Sir’s body.

Tony swam around for a while in sensation, just being, not thinking, not worrying, just half-dozing in the warmth of their aftermath.

“How ya feelin’, doll?” Bucky asked.

“Perfect,” Tony managed, slurring and smiling stupidly. Bucky rolled them both gently to the side, and Tony managed to pry one eye open enough to look. He loved that soft, well-pleasured look on Bucky’s beautiful face.

“Great,” Bucky told him. “Hang tight, I’ll--”

Bucky might have said something else; Tony could extrapolate on it. Bucky was going to take care of Tony now, clean them up, make sure Tony drank and ate. All those fun things that Tony revelled in at least as much as the actual sex. He didn’t really much care, he was still floaty, high as a damn kite, relaxed and limp.

Bucky was going to take care of him, and Tony was going to nap, and then they were going to talk about a more formal relationship. Yeah, that was a plan, he had a plan, and--

“ **Avengers Assemble**.” That was Steve’s voice, projected over the Tower’s intercom system. A recording; Tony remembered doing the recording, wanting the alarm to be consistent, and not entirely depending on Cap being available to yell for everyone.

“What, what now?” Bucky grumbled.

“JARVIS?” Tony rolled over, pulling the pillow over his head. Too much, too loud.

“I beg your pardon, sir,” JARVIS’s voice was crisp over the inhouse speakers, a trifle subdued, out of respect for interrupting. Probably. Either that, or Tony had traumatized him again. Or something really bad was going on that needed the Avengers. “The Captain felt an all-hands was necessitated, given the magnitude of the threat.”

“What have we got?” Tony tried to shake off his lassitude, but it was slow going. His brain was packed in wool and his heartbeat was sluggish.

“No,” Bucky said.

“No, no, what?”

“JARVIS, override, Tony’s not in any shape--”

“No,” Tony said, figuring out what No meant in this connotation, finally. He scrubbed his face with his hands, blinking rapidly. He coughed a few times, and that jarring motion helped to clear his brain. “No, you don’t get to make that call.”

“Tony, you are in _drop_ ,” Bucky protested. “It’d be like letting you drive drunk--”

“Which I have done literally _dozens_ of times,” Tony said. “My reflexes at my worst are better than most people at their best. I’ve kicked Rhodey’s ass in the War Machine while so blindly drunk -- and dying, I might add -- that…” He pushed himself off the bed and staggered.

Instinctively, Bucky reached out to catch him, and Tony shoved at him. It was like trying to shove a building. Bucky with his feet planted wasn’t going _anywhere_.

“Tony, honey, come on,” Bucky pleaded with him, “you’re in drop, you’re _reeking_ of pheromones, honey. Think this through a moment.” Bucky wasn’t using the Dom voice, not trying to push or contain him in any way, but Tony still felt the walls coming down. Trapped, trapped, _trapped_ , held prisoner by his own damn biology. Rage started at the base of his skull.

“I’ll keep the suit closed,” Tony promised. “Gimme a suit with filters, J, buddy, okay?”

“Of course, sir,” JARVIS said, easy and compliant as always. Except that he added, “if you don’t mind my saying so, sir, Mr. Barnes might be correct in his assessment--”

“I mind,” Tony snapped. He didn’t need to be babied. He’d built the damn original armor in a cave. With scraps. After being tortured and abused for close to three months. After being ordered and rode hard by every Alpha that Ten Rings had to offer. He could do this. He was fine, he didn’t need to be coddled. He wasn’t a goddamn pathetic sub who had to be fed with a silver spoon. He was Tony goddamn Stark and he was _fine_.

“Tony--”

“JARVIS, what’s the sitch?”

“Reports indicate a number of Doom’s robotic forces, with mystical auras high enough to suppose that Doom himself is involved in the invasion,” JARVIS said.

“That does it,” Tony said. “You need me.”

Bucky was struggling with his expression, and Tony knew that expression, it was the Tony-be-reasonable and Tony-I’m only-saying-this-for-your-own-good, and the same bullshit he’d gotten his whole life. When he wasn’t just being smacked around and ordered about by Howard. The same _you don’t know what’s good for you, boy,_ no matter how nicely it was phrased.

The whole world judged him for his biology, and the whole world had to be proved wrong, over and over. There was never any goddamn rest. Even Bucky, who he was halfway to being in love with, who he’d actually considered signing a damn contract with-- even Bucky thought he needed to be told what to do.

Fuck that. Fuck it.

Tony was a goddamn brick. He showed up. He did his job, no matter what.

_No matter what._

Tony yanked an underflight suit out of the closet and pulled it on, ignoring the way his bones felt like jello, the way his ass was sore and dripping with lube (among other things), ignoring the way his sternum ached, the way his lungs were squashed.

Bucky, at least, had stopped arguing with him, and if he was helping to keep Tony steady with one hand, Tony wasn’t going to acknowledge it. Not right now. He needed the fire, the molten power of his spite, his need to prove, his anger. He fed it, slights and bits of remembered conversations with Howard, vivid flashes from his time in the cave.

Used it to keep himself on his feet.

JARVIS opened the suite door and the suit wrapped itself around Tony, enclosing him in cold, safe metal. Easier to stand when JARVIS was holding his legs up, with the wild scent of Bucky’s Dom pheromones filtered out, a higher O2 content. The pharmaceutical suite plugged into his forearm, where he always had bruises, but no one really noticed, because Tony always had bruises. The drug package kept him from suffering a myriad of disorders and trauma, given that his main method of travel was only somewhat safer than riding a barrel down Niagara Falls.

“Come on, honey, suit up,” Tony said, and his voice was lighter, happier, even through Iron Man’s synthetic filter. Happy drugs combined with a hormone dump. He was looking forward to kicking ass and taking names.

“Yeah, I hear ya,” Bucky said, and if he was scowling, that furrow of worry on his forehead making Tony want to go to his knees and try to fix it, he was at least getting his pretty ass in gear.

Bucky didn’t keep his tactical gear in Tony’s penthouse, although that would have to change, eventually. He did, however, have several sets of basic clothes and the tight-fitting underarmor that kept his skin from chafing, and prevented plate pinches. Tony had designed that, a good microweave fabric mesh. It was also pretty good against blade penetration, and did some impact scatter. If it wasn’t quite armor on its own, it was at least another layer of protection.

Plus sweat wicking. And it made Bucky’s ass and thighs look great, so there was that, too.

“Sir, blood levels indicate--” in-suit only coms were a godsend. Tony reminded himself to send himself flowers for thinking of it.

“Yeah, can it, J, I know,” Tony told him. He was high as a kite, and getting ready to go airborne. It would be fine. He’d done better with less, and JARVIS knew it. Hell, JARVIS could probably pilot the armor and fight and no one would even know it, if Tony did something like pass out, or get the giggles too hard to keep working.

Man with a plan, meet the man in a can. “Iron Man, on coms, got a bead on your location, Cap and headed to you. Gonna princess carry Winter Smolder, since he’s lollygagging around.”

“Does anyone even say lollygagging anymore, Stark?” Clint wondered. “Sooner is better. I can’t even count that high. What the hell is Doom after, does anyone know?”

“I’m on that, Hawkeye,” Black Widow checked in. “If they keep going in a straight line--”

“Doom’s straight, figures,” Clint scoffed, but Nat ignored him.

“--they’re headed right for the Fridge.”

“I’m unaware of the significance,” Cap said.

“It’s an old SHIELD location, it was raided with the fall of Hydra, there’s nothing there. Used to be a prison-slash-storage facility for high end malefactors of all sorts. Weapons and unknown artefacts, people and prisoners. A catch-all for stuff we don’t want to deal with, but want to keep out of everyone else’s hands.”

“There’s nothing there,” Tony reported. He’d sent a security team out as soon as JARVIS had alerted him to the mass breakout led by several Hydra agents. Most of what was left was paperwork and rubble.

“Doom thinks different,” Cap said, “and I plan to argue with him about his rights to it.”

“Gotcha,” Bruce said. “If there’s nothing there, and just robotic badguys, you need Hulk for this? He’s been itching to go play.” Bruce always liked it when they dealt with mechanicals. Few human collateral damage, and lots of stuff to smash.

“Go ahead and kick it, Brucie-bear,” Tony gave him the go ahead, bypassing the chain of command, but what the hell.

“I’m ready for pick up, in the pod,” Bucky told him. Or, Winter Soldier, at any rate. There was the slightest buzz change in Bucky’s voice whenever he was in mission mode.

“On it, delivery of frozen food to the team.”

Tony did a showy loop before snagging the combat-drop pod that Tony had designed. Just another brilliant addition to the team; anyone could ride in the pod and be relatively safe from the suit’s gee-force. Both Winter Soldier and Cap could deploy even without a chute, going feet first into the melee, and the wounded -- when there were injuries -- could be evacuated safely.

“You are fucking gorgeous, babe,” Bucky said on the private line.

“Keep up the flattery, I love it,” Tony told him. “Enough of it goes to my head and I’ll be putting my name on the line, right under yours.”

The suck of breath over the line told Tony he’d said more than he meant to. This was not the time to be making life-changing decisions and declarations of devotions.

“Tony--”

“Eeeeh, Winter Wonderland, you know me. Mouth got ahead of my brains, and you ought to be impressed that I’m saving my mouth for you, and only you. Hold the thought, we’ll revisit it after we send Doom to the trash compactor.”

“Count on it, babe,” Bucky said, and then he closed the pod. Tony grabbed the handle and yanked them into the sky, already hitting mach 2 before they left the city. “We’re onroute, Cap, ETA in sixteen minutes.” New York City to Indiana at Mach 4.

“You want me to keep them busy for a whole episode of Brooklyn 99?” Cap marveled. “Skip the commercials and fly faster.”

“Don’t argue with me about physics, Steve,” Tony snarked happily. “I got your buddy in the pod, and liquifying him isn’t going to help anything. You want me on site, let me know before things get out of hand.”

“You were busy,” Widow said.

“Yes, you were,” Bucky purred in his ear.

“Get a room, you two,” Clint said.

“We had one,” Tony objected. “And now we’re coming to save your asses, so stop side-seat flying.”

“We need… to work on our communication skills,” Bruce said.

“Hey, I said end of the world fights only. Is this end of the world? I don’t think so, it’s just Doom.”

“Yeah, if I kill them all before you get here,” Clint remarked, “then I’m stealing your coffee for the next _week_.”

“Don’t even try it, Robin of Loxley.”

Tony whooped and pushed the suit to its full capabilities. “Hold onto something, sweetheart, we’re going in hot.” Tony tapped the sound system; he always liked playing _Bitch is Back_ when he handed Vincent Von Dumbass his head on the rebound.

Tony and Bucky were both singing along when Tony dropped the pod over the melee. “Good luck honey,” Tony told him. “And you’re away.”

“Pick me up when you’re done,” Bucky said. “Love you.”

Tony ignored Clint’s gagging. “Love you, too.”

 


End file.
